


relevé

by leatherandwolfsbane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pack Feels, deaths not described in graphic detail but use your discretion, virtually entire pack mentioned hence the tags but it's really just Scott and Lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leatherandwolfsbane/pseuds/leatherandwolfsbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wolf and the banshee, an unexpected pair. Exhausted and coated in ash and blood, they were finally permitted to leave Beacon Hills behind. But they were the only ones who would escape; every other name was now a bouquet of flowers and a carved stone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	relevé

**Author's Note:**

> relevé: (ballet) A position in which the dancer rises from any position to balance on one or both feet on at least demi-pointe, or possibly full pointe

Scott held tightly to Lydia’s hand. The pair was drained. They were finally escaping, leaving Beacon Hills behind forever, but they had had to make sure they eliminated the beacon first. Deaton had left an inkling on how it could be done before he had left them and now the pair had been able to complete the task. The nemeton was now nothing more than a blackened, gnarled stump. No blood sacrifices or magic could save it this time. No one else would die because of it. But the supernatural and their allies had already paid the price. 

They were the last two, all that remained of the McCall pack.

Technically the dwindling of the pack started with Peter, regardless of his official position. They’d needed to kill him again, permanently this time, during their senior year. Peter was always too self-serving and even Scott had to acknowledge that as Peter attacked his friends again, leaving several of them severely wounded, it was kill or be killed. So Peter was put away, quietly killed without any flair or joyous victory. Derek was distant for a while; not because he didn’t understand, but out of mourning for who his uncle used to be. Derek’s last link to and constant reminder of his past life was gone.

Kira was next, in a cruel twist of fate, only three days after high school graduation. None of the pack could believe they’d made it this far, that all of those who had made it to senior year were actually fortunate enough to complete it. They walked at commencement, smiling and posing for the pack parents and adults who could only chuckle. They listened to Lydia’s valedictorian speech that bore greatest significance to those who had struggled with her…those who understood the real significance of life. And they partied. Hard. But the celebrations and glimmering hopes of the future were just as far from them as ever when sirens swept through town that same night, calling men to the coast to face their doom. High off of their achievement, the pack had faced them quickly. Perhaps too swirly, without proper planning. Kira had gone down fighting, protecting her friends, just as strong and skilled as ever. In the somber days that followed, the Yukimuras left town, telling no one where they went. Scott prayed for their safety, prayed they could heal from the loss of their only child.

Stiles made it to twenty-one before he was executed by hunters. Hunters who saw a boy in the woods, mirroring how this all started. Hunters who recognized a snarky, loyal pack member when they saw one. One who would be incredible fun to crack. Hunters who didn’t care that he was human. Stiles died alone. That was the part that hurt Scott the most; he couldn’t even comfort his brother. Couldn’t even try to offer the bite. Couldn’t say goodbye. No one got to say goodbye to Stiles, but Scott could still hear the echo of Lydia’s scream. 

Everything spiraled after that; no one died because of Stiles, but no one’s grief for any of the missing pack helped matters. 

Derek became reckless; he had actually come to like Stiles, and the pair had spent the past few years calling each other friend. When a handful of rogue bastet threatened the town, Derek took care of the problem nearly single-handedly. He fought with a raw ferocity that eliminated the threat, but left too many wide openings for himself to be hit in turn. Too many wounds and no real strong desire to survive signaled Derek’s death, as well, following just a few months after Stiles. With Derek, the last Hale of Beacon Hills had passed, leaving the territory open to Scott. Cora was still out there somewhere, South America probably, but no one had heard from her in ages. At least Scott had been able to say goodbye and thank you to his big brother. 

Malia was devastated by the consecutive loses. Stiles had been her anchor and Derek her cousin. She had lost both of her greatest friends and mentors. She knew how to be human, but with the loss of her anchor, her feral side began to creep back, and Scott could see for all he tried to help that she didn’t exactly want to be reigned in. Malia was more easily antagonized and engaged in a vicious fight with a ghoul that left critical, infected wounds before she ran away, once again in a full coyote shift. Scott desperately wanted to search for her, but knew to give her space, only able to hope that she would heal and one day return. It was nearly three months later that Lydia gave him a soft, sad look that told Scott all he needed to know: their wildest, strongest, most instinctive friend was gone. Gone to be with her closest friends again. Scott disappeared for a week while he hunted down her body and brought her back to be buried near those she loved most: her sister, her anchor, and her cousin. 

The sheriff had held on for as long as he could. Scott, Melissa, Lydia, Derek and Malia all working to help him manage his grief. They made him eat healthy food he hated and they refused to give him alcohol, determined not to undo Stiles’ hard work. They helped him decide which belongings of Stiles’ to pack away and which to leave around as a reminder of his life. And then cruelly Derek and Malia were gone; the sheriff lost two more of his adopted children. But he was as determined as the others to protect his town from the crap that kept coming, so he got out of bed; he kept being the sheriff. He persisted. It wasn’t anything supernatural that killed the sheriff, just a stupid mugger with a gun on a call the sheriff unfortunately was the one to respond to. Just an idiot with a gun who panicked. Just a sheriff with paternal instincts who glanced at the innocent young shoppers under threat for a second too long. Just one damn stupid bullet that out of sheer, dumb luck hit just the right organ at just the right angle. So Scott had to bury the man he considered to be his father next to the boy he considered to be his brother. 

The pack was granted nearly two years of relative peace, peace being measured by a lack of death, not attacks, before Deaton was killed a grandiose druid duel. Scott could barely believe what he witnessed. The man who relied on wisdom and herbs had been hiding a fighting power all this time. But there was always a but, and while Deaton prevented his enemy from fulfilling his supremacist goal, his years of limited confrontation meant that he wouldn’t be protecting the town any more. So Scott lost his other father figure. Morrell had returned briefly to give her brother all his proper rites and farewells, and then she too disappeared. The pack lost their mentor, their emissary, and their last link to knowledge from years of supernatural experience. 

Liam was Scott’s only beta, his “only child.” Scott had watched with sad eyes as Liam struggled with the increasing danger of his new life. He watched Liam crumble with each death, especially the death of those who weren’t even creatures like him, those who shouldn’t have even been targeted. Liam had grown to be so strong, so in control. Scott was so proud of him. He’d persevered when he was the only pack member still at school, he’d defended them against threats human and supernatural alike. He had come to love them all like family. Wolfsbane poisoning claimed him and Scott could still feel the younger man’s life leaving his body as he held him in his arms. 

And then Scott lost his only remaining parental figures, his real ones this time. Given the horrors the pack had faced, Scott had thought morbidly that it was amazing they’d lasted this long. Melissa and Rafael, Mom and Dad, and he had been able to call Rafael dad once he’d been let in on the werewolf secret, were murdered simultaneously in the latest attack on the hospital. Scott’s only comfort was that they died together. They had had each other to hold onto, to say goodbye to, to have one last laugh with. Scott honesty wasn’t sure he’d be able to move on from this loss. But Lydia pulled him through. There wasn’t a single day he didn’t think about them, all of them. 

Parrish had been brought into the fold in their junior year of high school after the nogitsune. He exposed himself as a half-breed of sorts, the son of a shaman and wyvern, but not entirely either, more of an “in the know” ally than a supernatural entity. He had been drawn to the town after the resurrection of the nemeton. He was intelligent, loyal, witty, and in possession of strong morals, a perfect fit for the pack. Initially he had been most comfortable with the Stilinskis, Lydia, and Derek but he had quickly situated his way into all their hearts. His military knowledge had been a highly usual tool, and Scott had lost count of how many times he had saved all of them. The trio he comprised of with Lydia and Scott had been unbelievably effective in their last days. Scott had permitted himself a glimmer of hope that all three of them would make it out of “operation destroy the nemeton” alive, but he should have known better by now. Parrish had rushed in like an action hero, wielding guns and mountain ash, herbs from Deaton, and pseudo-claws from Stiles. Parrish had guarded Scott as he set about the destruction, had performed the magic-based ritual to engulf it from within with Lydia, but the damn tree fought back with conjured protectors. Parrish took a hit for Scott and never got back up. Before Scott could close his fallen companion’s eyes, Parrish’s body was dissipated into the preserve. It hadn’t quite made sense to Scott, but he imagined Parrish’s spirit becoming a sort of anti-nemton. Parrish would protect the town now. 

Scott and Lydia. They were the last two now after eight years of hell, standing alone at twenty-six. They all could have left town, could have gotten degrees, could have made new lives in new cities. Could have had long, prosperous lives. But they had all stayed; they had all fought for the side of good, and they had all payed the price. Scott and Lydia’s grief was immense, but in honor of their friends and fallen pack they had made a vow to save the town once and for all and then live. Live for as long as they could.

So they destroyed the nemeton. They took out a coven of malevolent witches at the edge of town who intended to stop them. They left denotions to repair and strengthen Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital and the Sheriff’s Station. They burned the school down to the ground, while no one was inside or near, of course; the school was a cursed site they could all do without. They made a shrine at the Hale house. They put fresh flowers and gifts on every grave. And they said farewell. Hand in hand the pair was now ready to leave. To leave and live. 

Erica and Boyd. Allison. Chris and Isaac who had never returned. Peter. Kira. Stiles. Derek and Malia. The sheriff, who Scott could never refer to by another name, and Deaton. Liam. Melissa and Rafael. Parrish. Everyone but Lydia. Always Lydia. She who saw the death seemed incapable of death herself, even if she desired to on occasion. She and Scott fueled each other, gave each other strength. Wherever it was they wandered to now, he knew they would always be to ether. After everything they’d seen, they couldn’t separate; they were each other’s strength, each other’s anchor now.

Scott tugged on Lydia’s hand and glanced at her ash smeared face. He never would’ve imagined that any of this would have happened. That Beacon Hills would become so horrible that nearly all of them would die. That only two of them would survive. That only he and Lydia would be able to walk away, free and grieving, but alive. Lydia shuddered, closing her eyes for just a moment before she met Scott’s gaze. At her stern nod, Scott gave a small smile and guided her away, a sense of relief emanating from them both.

They refused to look back at the smoking stump.


End file.
